


and well sometimes the tales tell true

by Minya_Mari



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire, game of thrones
Genre: Angst, Dragon-babies that are literally dragons, I really shouldn't have written this, Stillbirth, ahhhh, send help
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-09
Updated: 2014-02-09
Packaged: 2018-01-11 18:45:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1176575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minya_Mari/pseuds/Minya_Mari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From a prompt on asoiaf kink meme: There's a reason why the Targaryens tend to marry each other--the first dragons could shift between human and dragon forms, and the Targaryens have retained their human appearance. When Targaryens marry each other, their children tend to look human. When one parent isn't a Targaryen...well, sometimes the child is normal and sometimes the child resembles Rhaego. Bonus points for someone in addition to Dany finding this out--Lyanna, Jon, Samwell, Drogo, I don't care.</p><p>I maybe kinda didn't involve Dany all that much, but I promise she'll be in the next chapter!</p>
            </blockquote>





	and well sometimes the tales tell true

Being heavy with child did nothing to quell Arya's temper. If anything, she worsened the closer to the birth she came, cursing Aegon to the seven hells and back.

Her feet swelled along with her stomach, but her legs and arms stayed lean and lanky. Her aunt Lyanna visited her chambers every morn, as was her custom; sometimes bearing little treasures Lord Stark had sent her, sometimes only offering her company. Long, braided dark hair and smirking grey eyes met her own every morning.

Thin, calloused hands tied Arya's own dark hair up into similar styles and helped her into blue and black dresses. And as Arya awoke that morn, the sun shining much too happily into her eyes, she was not surprised in the slightest to find Lyanna Targaryen's form sitting on the cushioned chair at her bedside. She was dressed in warm colours, reds and yellows, the grey furs of House Stark lining her cloak.

"Morning, little wolf."

Arya growled, and turned to furrow further into her featherbed.

Lyanna laughed, high and true, lifting herself from her seat and gently poking her niece in the side.

"It is much too early," the younger whined, moving from the offending appendage the older waved at her. "Can we not break fast later?"

Lyanna shrugged, drawing herself back into her chair. "I do not mind much. But it is Jon's nameday in two days, niece. And Queen Rhaella is quite overbearing on the subject." She blinked her grey eyes and pouted childishly. "And I do very much like your company."

Arya glared at her aunt before sighing and reaching for her to be lifted from the bed.

 

.

 

.

 

Princess Rhaenys was a lovely creature, Arya would go even as far to say that she, the Princess, outshone her own sister Sansa.

Thick, black locks that reached her waist, and a ruby red dress made of Myrish silk that skimmed the tops of her toes.

Her uncle and husband, Prince Viserys was clad in a purpled vest that donned red cuffs, his hair longer than even Aegon's own. Speaking of her husband… Aegon traced patterns on the bare skin on the back of her hand lazily as the high lords and ladies danced in celebration of Jon's nameday.

The maester had told her that she was to birth the damned child two days before all this. She was still waiting for the pains to start.

Aegon leaned in towards her. "Do you feel up to dancing, My Love?"

Arya grimaced at the prospect, and Aegon laughed, pressing his forehead to her temple in an affectionate gesture.

In the end, it wasn't Aegon that roused her from where she lounged, but his half-brother Jon. His Stark-grey eyes crinkled at the sides as he smiled at her, his hand extended as he asked her to dance with him.

They danced slowly, for Arya could not twirl as quickly as she used to; her stomach slowing her movements to compensate for the child growing inside.

"How are you, little cousin?" Jon Targaryen asked her, long face lined with worry.

Arya snorted, but worried her lip as he lead her amongst the throng of people twirling about them. "I can feel the child sitting low, but," she lifted her lips in a half smile. Jon echoed the sentiment. "Perhaps he likes it too well inside." Jon slowed until they barely moved at all.

"My Lady mother carried little Visenya nearly half a moon's turn before my sweet sister decided to enter this world."

Arya felt a warm flush that made her head ache and blinked it back stubbornly. But she said, "I do not feel all that well, Jon."

Jon stopped speaking, instead his grip tightened on her hands. "Do you wish for me to take you back to your chambers?"

Arya nodded, eyes still closed.

The song ended, and Jon escorted her through the Red Keep, hands folded in her own.

When he had helped her into her bed, he sent for her handmaids and a maester.

 

Arya's water broke a hour later, and she laboured for nearly two days, only to birth a scaled, sickly thing with a tail and wings and fangs and claws.

And Arya Targaryen screamed.

 

.

 

.

 

Lyanna had known that this outcome was possible.

It had happened to she only a few years ago, a year before she had borne Visenya.

The pressure to give Rhaegar heirs had run Lyanna ragged, and mayhaps it was that to blame her son's still-birth. But whatever the case was, the child Lyanna had given birth to had not been human in the slightest.

Bright, sea-green scales adorned its' tiny body, where only pale, pink skin should have been. Lyanna had screamed also, the pain nearly unbearable, but Queen Rhaella had been at her side to explain that children were sometimes born such as this.

It had been recorded that Queen Rhaenyra had birthed a child much the same. That it happened sometimes when one of Targaryen bloodline mated with someone that did not share their blood.

She then explained that there were tales in the Doom of Old Valyria that the first Targaryens had a dragon form.

It had been a fascinating tale, to be true, but that did not lessen the grief of her son's passing. Rhaegar had stayed from her bed during those months, preferring Eila Martell's company to her own, but _her_ Jon stayed. Her oldest and only son, he quickly became her light and reason to lift herself from bed every morn.

Ser Arthur Dayne stayed as well. He escorted her through the gardens and to suppers and became a constant companion, just as he had in the Tower of Joy.

Little Arya had still only been betrothed to Aegon at the time, and did not understand completely why she had not seen her aunt in months.

Now, Lyanna feared that little Arya Stark knew all too well just why.

**Author's Note:**

> So yeah, I kinda, mayhaps might have stolen this idea from a prompt on asoiaf kink meme.  
> Love me.


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